I had nothing to say this morning. Some days I am less in the mood than other days to write. This morning, I was not in the mood.
I spent a few hours being cranky and not in the mood, growing increasingly more cranky about not being in the mood as time passed.
Mark loves when I get this way.
So he suggested we go out to lunch, “Come on . . . you’re putting too much pressure on yourself. Take a break. We’ll go have a beer, eat some food. You’ll think of something.”
And then there was a short unreasonable burst from me about how he was being an insensitive unsupportive asshole and how I did not fucking have time to go out to lunch because I hadn’t even started a post yet and I post everyday, and so how incredibly annoying to suggest that we go out to lunch when I was having trouble writing a single word and then we would get back home and I would be all goofy because even one beer makes me a little goofy, so really he was saying that the blog wasn’t all that important and I should just blow it off to make him happy. Selfish fucking husband.
And then I realized I was a little hungry and that a beer sounded pretty fabulous.
So we went out to lunch.
Mark is used to me, by the way . . . he doesn’t even listen when I rant like that.
In case you were worried about him.
Anyway.
He takes me to this place in Portland called The Hawthorne Fish House.
I have the crab pepper cheese soup. So yummy.
And a beer . . . Walking Man IPA. Also yummy.
Mark orders the fish and chips. His food is also really good, which I know because he goes on and on about how good it is. Small pieces of cod lightly battered.
Perfection, apparently.
Mark is all entranced with how they have breaded the small pieces of fish.
In case I am a complete idiot regarding the application of breading to fish? Mark raises his hand into the space between us to show me how the small pieces of fish have been tumbled in breading. His face is all earnest . . . his hand outstretched, palm up . . . his fingers dancing delicately in the air. Do I see?
I choke back a giggle, “Babe, what the hell are you doing?”
He demonstrates again, long fingers dancing upward before me from his outstretched palm, “What? This is how they bread the fish. What do you mean?”
Snort!
“What do I mean? I mean it looks like you are playing with your invisible friend’s balls. That’s what I mean.”
He quickly pulls his hand back to his side, “Babe, you have been writing that blog for too long. Everything is sexual to you. I am appreciating my meal. I am making a point. And you see me playing with invisible balls?”
I take a deep breath to quell my giggling, “OK, let me show you what you just did. Let’s see what you think.”
I stare earnestly into my husband’s eyes as I raise my right hand palm up, curved slightly, and allow my fingers to play with the invisible pieces of fish.
He laughs and smacks my hand out of the air, “OK, well now that’s all I can see. Thank you very much.”
Hee hee!
I drink a little bit more of my beer.
I giggle.
Mark tries to explain, “OK, babe. Seriously. Not everything is inappropriate. I was just using my hand to help make a conversational point.”
And then he raises his hand into the space between us again. Fondles his imaginary lover’s balls with his fingers again.
And then he says to me, as his fingers are dancing and caressing these imaginary balls . . .
“You know how I am. I use my hands. I have a little Italian in me.”
Oh my god.
Between gasps of hysterical laughter, I say, “Babe, you just said you are fondling your lover’s balls because you have a little Italian in you. Oh my god, babe. Don’t you see how much worse you have made the situation with that explanation?”
It takes Mark a second, but then he blushes bright red and gets all flustered and busies himself with paying the bill.
I . . . cannot . . . breathe.
As we leave the restaurant, Mark says, “You’re not going to write about this, are you?”
Snort!
“Oh, I so am. You know that I am.”
He sighs, “Fine. Just make me look good.”
I take his hand as we walk to the car, “You always look good, babe.”
I stand on tiptoe to kiss him as we wait for the light to change, “You’re my muse.”
Hee hee!
HA!
I haven’t even read the post yet.
But I’m never first.
And I’m a little competitive.
And I’m resentful that i have to work.
Which keeps me from EVER being first.
Which, we know, I totally should be what with the tiaras and the scepters and all.
Ok…I’ll read now.
Cause I really hate when I miss that part.
GodDAMNIT why don’t we play the lottery?
In general, I really do read first.
But I am competitive today.
And also, apparently, loud.
Eh…never mind. I’m mostly loud.
And the really funny thing is that I pictured the ball handling just from your description.
Plus, we all know what “little pieces of breaded fish” is slang for.
Like we haven’t been around the block.
Or, the pier, in this case.
Your first HA comment made me laugh right out loud!
Love that.
Love you.
And my husband?
Oh my god, I love him.
That he would let me tell this story?
Swoon!
Plus also?
So fucking funny. I am still giggling.
All of you are awesome! Lori, I’m so happy you got to be first! And Kris, very happy you had yummy beer and soup AND great fodder for post! Happy happy happy.
Have you also perhaps had a couple of beers?
Hee hee!
We are all awesome!
YAY!
No beers yesterday. I’m just a naturaly exuberant and bubbly person. Some call me loud but I prefer exuberant, DAMNIT. But! Today is MAH BIRFDAY so plenty o’ beers tonight! Hooray beer!
Happy birthday, you!
I love your exuberance!
Hooray beer!
Hee hee!
imaginary lover’s balls. OMG! thank god for your family and the endless material.
My family is awesome.
And my husband?
He is perfect.
He really is.
OMG! Have you ever seen how a handle is made for a ceramic mug? Youtube it. I’ll wait. Now imagine my mid-fifties ceramics professor demonstrating that for us, hormonal college students.
Totally awesome.
Oh, that would be delightful.
Love that image.
Yay!
Oh, a little Italian in Mark!
And the imaginary ball fondling…
Is it inappropriate to have a sweet little crush?
He’s nifty, your Mark!
He is way nifty.
He makes me giggle.
Swoon!
Thank you again. For my daily “snort”.
Hope the DEA never sees fit to regulate you.
Shhhhh.
Don’t tell them about me.
Other governmental agencies have shut me down.
Really.
Shhhh.
When he said, “I have a little Italian in me,” I totally lost it. Before I even read the next line. How can guys, who can make *anything* about sex (I’ll change your oil, babe) be so oblivious at times? Just kills me. He’s a keeper!
He is definitely a keeper.
Definitely.
I just live for this sort of moment.
So happy.
Later?
Perhaps I will change some oil.
Snort!
Mark has earned an oil change.
When you write about Mark, and the things you do together and talk about…it becomes so obvious that your girls are such a mixture of both of your personalities. I love it.
Mark and I are a good team.
And together?
We made magic.
My husband thinks I’m a random, laughing fool as of late…Then I always explain to him that I’m reading your blog. Ha!
Oh, how I love that!
Thank you telling me that!
Don’t you just love it when they give you the “You’re not gonna blog about this are you??” Ha ha ha… suckas. :)
You know what, though?
Without his permission?
Never would have told this story.
Really.
So I already love you lots and lots and am completely addicted to your stories but you know what I loved best about this post? It’s that I live in Bend with a husband and daughter that can’t eat wheat and you enlightened me to the Hawthorne Fish House where their entire menu is gluten free!! How much more could I love you Kris?!?! I just don’t think more admiration is possible ;)
Yay!
Really good food, too.
Really good food.
Have you seen Date Night? If they were at a restaurant watching your table and trying to figure out your convo, wonder what they would have said…LOL!
I have not seen that movie.
But now?
I must see that movie!
I’m cracking up over here.
After I read this, I turned to my husband, turned my palm up, wiggled my fingers and said “Honey, what am I doing?”, to which he replied, “Playing with my balls?”
That is, according to the man I love, the universal symbol for playing with balls.
How does Mark not know this?
Snort!
Mark’s claim is that when I did it? It was clear that I was pantomiming playing with his balls.
But as he has never played with another’s balls? He did not realize that the gesture would be interpreted that way when he did it.
And I?
Am still giggling.
lmao hilarious lines in there. Playing with invisible balls and a little italian in me. Looks like super mario payed mark a visit jk.
Hee hee!
I am all giggling at your super mario line.
Oh my god . . . so funny.
You guys were made for eachother! Great love you have. :)
Yes.
Yes, indeed.
Thank you.
P.S. You could just write about how there was nothing to write about and still have an excellant post. Yes, you are that great.
I may have done that before.
And it was a good post!
Hee hee!
I love you.